The Stork

I recently earned a new nick name at work: “The Stork.” You know, that awesome bird that drops newborn babies on people’s doorsteps? (because obviously that’s how babies are made.) How I got this nickname was a result of literally, the worst shift I have ever worked, ever, the shift I like to call “The Baby and The Black Out.”

It started off simple enough. A couple came in with their newborn baby (I’m talking a week old, tops) and asked where would be the best place to set up a high chair so they could put the baby’s car seat on top of it. It was pretty empty in the restaurant, and when they set up in the aisle between two booths, I told them, don’t worry, I”ll work around you.

WRONG.

Midway through their meal, the place started to get busy. As I was hustling around their table to give another table their check, my hip brushed against the highchair and….drum roll…..the highchair toppled, and the carseated baby went flying.

Fortunately (and fortunately is an understatement), the baby was strapped into the carseat, and let’s face it, carseats are meant to get bumped around in the event of an accident. Surely crash test dummies have also tested the effects of waitresses as well as large vehicles hurling towards them. After getting over the initial shock, the parents calmed down, got their baby to stop crying, and were incredibly nice throughout the meal. The fact that they tipped me after I nearly killed their child was quite generous, I thought.

Think the shift is over? No. It keeps going.

After now officially earning the name “The Stork”, because according to my co-worker, I “drop babies”, I hoped things would return to normal. I went to the back to grab some menus when I banged my knee right against the pressure point against a very sharp corner. It was some of the worst pain I have ever felt in my life, and I’ve been tattooed multiple times. After a few minutes, I started to feel woozy. And a couple minutes after that…..

Yes….I blacked out. Apparently, this is something that can happen to people when they are in extreme pain. Having never had this experience, I thought for a moment I was losing my mind.

There is an upside to all of this baby dropping and blacking out though. I now know, no matter what happens during my shifts from now on, nothing can ever compare to the time I almost killed a newborn, blacked out, and hallucinated unicorns caring for me in my time of need.

They don’t pay me $8.00 an hour for nothing.

Sincerely,

Twenty Something Waitress

Will the Real Waitress please stand up?

2012 is here! But four days a week, I leave the 21st century for a bit, step into a world fashioned from another era and play the part of a 50’s waitress. It is a world complete with juke boxes, bar stools and classic American diner food. I wear a mini skirt. I refill 1,000 cups of coffee. But there is a skull and cross bones on my t-shirt, and sometimes I make up rap songs on the spot about french fries and apple pie to pass the time. The modern influences are clearly everywhere, (my future rap stardom included), but in some ways, not much has changed. Continue reading

Dear (Very Confusing) Secret Santa

Dear Secret Santa from my place of employment,

Thank you for the time and effort you put into the purchase of women’s plus sized twelve underwear for me this year. You must have scoured the Secret Santa Gift Guide for hours to assure that I would receive the perfect gift. Although the underwear is literally 6 sizes too big, I feel confident I can come up with many resourceful, practical uses for my new plus sized gift. With my new underwear, I can:

Knit a stocking

Pitch a tent

Make an attractive head scarf

Dress a snowman

Make holiday place mats with elastic waist bands

Fashion a mosquito net for last minute jungle excursions

Swaddle a newborn set of quintuplets

Blindfold a set of school children for a fun game of pin the tail on the donkey

Make a new fashion statement and submit it to Vogue

Be the envy of friends and family

And of course, create memories that will last a life time

Thank you, secret santa. Christmas miracles really do come true.

Sincerely,

Twenty Something Waitress

Dear Customers Who Are Apparently Terrified Of Me

Dear Customers Who Are Apparently Terrified of Me,

It’s a phenomenon I witness at least once per shift. I approach your table, ask how it’s going, and attempt to offer drinks or appetizers. I go to great lengths to be friendly. My voice now reaches octaves of cheerfulness I never knew possible until I started waitressing. Even on my most tired or frustrating days, I am confident that I look something along the lines of this: (Like a friendly waitress, that is, not an airbrushed Keri Russell.)

But at least once per shift, one of you gives me a terrified, confused look that leads me to believe I must look like this:

In case you weren’t aware, this is a restaurant, and I am a waitress. It is standard protocol for me to come to your table and engage in radical behavior like asking what you would like to eat. I’m sorry if this is disturbing in any way. If you could please help me better understand this “terrified of my waitress” phenomenon so that I can make the necessary changes to appear less like a hungry demon ready to devour you, I would really appreciate it.

Sincerely,

Twenty Something Waitress

“Keep the change”….Literally

Dear Table 12,

Thank you for this generous tip. I now have the ability to:

1) Make 38 wishes in a wishing well. I wish you don’t ever sit in my section ever again, multiplied times 38.

2) Develop that early onset hunchback I’ve always wanted, as a result of carrying an equivalent of 25 pounds of change on the left side of my apron.

3) Transport myself back to the turn of the century, where I will buy penny candy for all the neighborhood children and still have money left over for a loaf of bread, a carton of milk and a gallon of gas.

Thank you for these amazing opportunities.

Sincerely, Twenty Something Waitress

“Just Say No”

When I was growing up, there was that turning point in childhood where the dangers of peer pressure were starting to become more and more imminent.  As a school-wide initiative, they set aside one day in class to teach all the 4th graders about the concept of “Just say No to Drugs.” I learned, along with many of my classmates, to Just Say No, loud and proud. It was 1992, I was nine, and clearly, I was about to succumb to the rampant use of crack cocaine on the school junglegym at any moment.

Probability wise, you know at least one student had to be absent from class that day. Multiply those absent students by hundreds upon thousands of classrooms learning the Just Say No campaign across America, and you will have the amount of people who now, as adults, don’t know how to Just Say No to a drug they never warned us about—our most absurd desires and demands. And where do these adults end up, you wonder? They end up in my restaurant, sitting at a booth as I hover above them, waiting for some kind of thing that resembles common sense to come out of their mouth, and instead feeling like I am being bashed repeatedly in the head with a cave man’s club.

Take today’s daily crisis:’

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